


Truth or Dare

by lacqueluster (GG_and_MM)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Shameless Smut, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 09:15:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15191594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GG_and_MM/pseuds/lacqueluster
Summary: Will a game of truth or dare jeopardize your friendship with Sam Winchester?





	Truth or Dare

**Author's Note:**

> This work contains a NSFW image embedded in it.
> 
> My beta is completely out of the fandom now, and I'm not far behind her, but I've still got some writing I want to finish up. Any mistakes in this are mine, any plot holes, any general suckage, I take complete responsibility for. 
> 
> I had some shit I needed to work out with Sam.

Lightning flashes, lighting up the room. The cabin rumbles with a roll of thunder, low and far off. The fire crackles in the fireplace, and even though you’re irritated you’re stuck here, you can’t help but feel a little cozy. 

You look around, taking in the scene. 

Dean is sprawled on the couch, beer in his hand, watching the TV. 

Sam is seated at the table, looking for the next case, since you’ve just wrapped one up. You watch his hands moving deftly over the keys, secretly hoping he doesn't find one right away. A few days rest in the bunker sounds amazing right now. 

The angels, Cas and Gabriel, are seated in armchair. One watching the storm and one flipping a coin into another dimension, then snapping his fingers and catching it back in this one a minute later. 

You’re all bored, basically. Cozy, a little sleepy maybe, and bored.

The heavy downpour has lasted most of the day, making the roads impassable down the mountain. With the case is over, Werewolves killed, you all want to be home, but you’re stuck. Gabriel said that once the storm slows he can snap the roads clear, but he can’t stop the storm altogether. So you wait. 

The lights flash, and with a loud crack of lightening, the room goes dark. 

“Aww, come on!” Dean huffs. 

Sam sits back in his chair, power to his laptop gone. He rubs a hand down his jaw and looks around. “Cas, Gabe, can you at least give us power?” 

Gabriel snaps and the lights pop back on, only for a second. The room goes dim again. “Well, I could, but not indefinitely. And I’m not going to drain myself just so Dean can watch Julia Child reruns.” 

“It’s the only station that comes in, dumbass.” Dean snips. “Wouldn’t watch it if I didn’t have to.” 

Gabriel cocks an eyebrow in disbelief. Dean ignores it. 

You lay your head back, sighing. “I’m so ready to be back at the bunker.” 

“You and me both,” Dean agrees. 

Everyone here would rather be somewhere else, you all know it. You’re all ready for showers, sleep, and a break from each other. 

“We need something to pass the time,” Cas suggests. 

“Do angels care about time?” Dean asks. “Thought you guys liked watch people sleep and stuff. Doesn’t seem like you’d care about passing time.” 

“I meant something to pass the time for _human_ enjoyment,” Cas replies, rather condescendingly, if you do say so. 

“Like a game?” Sam asks, before Dean can reply with sarcasm. 

“Indeed,” Cas nods. 

“Games,” Gabriel rubs his hands together, “I’ve got a few ideas.”

“No,” all four of you reply in unison. 

Gabriel slumps down in his chair. “That’s what I get for being stranded with a bunch of humans and one stick in the mud angel.” 

You all ignore him. 

“Truth or dare?” Dean suggests. 

“No, Dean, not truth or dare,” Sam says sternly. “Last time we played that I ended up covered in whip cream and glitter. Took two days to keep my hair from being sticky. Every dare you’ve got is like a twelve year old.” 

You glance away, most certainly not thinking about Sam’s chest covered in whip cream. You hadn’t been around for whatever he’s talking about. Probably a good thing. 

Dean chuckles. “That was a damn good dare though, you gotta admit.” He holds his beer up in a mock toast, irked when no one toasts him back. “Fine, what do you suggest, Mr. Mature?” 

Sam thinks, looking around the room in search of an idea. This is an old hunter’s shelter with some sparse furniture. There’s literally nothing to do here except for the 13 inch TV that’s now powerless. 

“Truth or dare it is!” Dean says, smacking his hands together. He downs the remainder of his beer and then lays the bottle down in the center of the cheap coffee table. “Who goes first?”

You can almost hear the annoyance from Sam when he rolls his eyes, but he and the angels drag their chairs into the circle anyway. 

“I’ll go,” you volunteer, figuring if you’re spinning the bottle at least you’re not answering a question or taking a dare. 

You give it a whirl, watching as it goes round and round, slower, slower, and finally stops on Cas. 

“Truth or dare?” You ask. 

“Truth.” 

You’re stumped. You’ve got nothing. Sam is right, this game is a little immature, and all the questions you can think of are absolutely not appropriate for an angel. At least not for Cas. They’d be fine for Gabriel. But you can’t see asking Cas what his most embarrassing sex moment was. Or his worst fart. Or whatever. 

You clear your throat, sitting up a little straighter. “Alright,” you stall, “um, what’s your favorite color?” 

Cas thinks briefly. “It’s not a color humans can see. It’s off the spectrum of what’s visible to your eyes. I would probably compare it to--”

“No,” Dean cuts in, “no, no, no. What kind of a question is that? That’s not a truth, not unless you’re playing with five year olds,” he looks at you with utter disappointment on his face. 

“Oh, come on! What the hell am I supposed to ask Cas? He’s an angel!” 

“So?!” Dean openly scoffs. “What does that matter?” He turns away, back to the angels. “Gabriel, Truth or Dare?” 

“Dare,” Gabriel says instantly. 

“No, you gotta say truth,” Dean insists, “I’m trying to make a point here.”

“Fine, truth.” 

“Who in this room would you most want to make out with?” 

“All of you,” there’s no hesitation in Gabriel’s answer, “except Cas. He’s a stick in the mud,” he adds. 

“See?” Dean looks at you expectantly. “Doesn’t matter, angel or not, it’s still truth or dare.” 

“Whatever, Cas is different than Gabriel and you know it.”

“Thank Father for that,” Gabriel mutters under his breath. 

You wave your hand, shooing at the bottle, “Someone else go then.” 

Sam reaches out and spins. It lands on Cas again. Dean almost loses his shit when Sam asks a question about some obscure history fact that Sam was certain Cas had hidden the truth from him about. 

Dean starts chastising Sam and your attention fades out. 

A gust of wind rakes a branch against the window, and you notice that the sun is fading quickly. Looks like you all might be sleeping here tonight. Great. 

You were distracted. Someone spun the bottle and it landed on you. 

“Now,” Dean pops the top on another bottle, “now we’re going to teach you and Sammy how to play this game.” He points the bottle at you. “Truth or dare?” 

Oh shit. You don’t like the sound of “teaching you and Sammy how to play the game.” A dare from Dean sounds awful. Visions of whipped cream and embarrassment flash through your mind. Nope. Not happening. 

“Truth,” you say, and then instantly regret it. What the hell, it’s not like you had a good option here. That’s kinda the point of the game. 

“Have you ever thought about sleeping with any of us?” 

“Oh come on, Dean, how immature,” Sam chastises. 

Your eyes flash to Sam, catching him looking at you. His cheeks flush and he breaks eye contact in less than a second. 

“You asked Gabriel that question!” You shake your head at Dead. “Isn’t there a rule that you can’t ask the same question twice?’’

“First of all, I didn’t ask him that. I asked him who he’d want to make out with--”

“Same difference!” 

Dean holds a finger up to silence you. “And second of all, no. There’s no rule that I can’t ask everyone here the same question. And I will,” he looks around at the others, “so prepare your answers now.” 

Cas seems to start an internal debate. Gabriel looks between the four of you, a downright wicked look on his face. 

Sam shakes his head at Dean. “Grow up.” 

Whatever. When you think about it, this question isn't as bad as Gabriel's. It's not as specific. And who could blame you for your answer? There's a lot of attractive men in this room. What else are you supposed to do for hours alone in the back seat of the impala, take up knitting?

“Yes,” you say matter of factly. 

Dean's face lights up. “Which one?” 

You shake your head. “Only one question. It's someone else's turn now.” 

“Cas, you go,” Sam instructs. 

Cas reaches down and spins the bottle, watching it turn and turn until it lands on you. 

“I'm stealing his question,” Gabriel says, clamping a hand over Cas’ mouth. 

“That's against the rules,” Sam tries to reason. He shoots you a sly smile and then looks back at Dean, all business. 

He’s trying to help, he’s always trying to help, and you love him for it. 

Well, not love. You look away from him quickly, hoping the thought of love didn’t just magically broadcast to the room. 

Like. That’s a better word. You like him for it. And only in a platonic way. Obviously. 

“Dean?” Gabriel asks, as if Dean is judge and jury. 

“I'll allow it,” Dean concedes. 

Sam throws his arms up. “This is stupid.” 

Gabriel looks at you. 

Oh _shit_. 

“Truth or dare?” 

No way in hell are you taking a dare from the Trickster. 

“Truth.” 

“Tell us all what you think we'd be like in bed.” 

Oh no. No, no no. 

“I don't really think that's a good idea…” You scratch the back of your neck, looking down and avoiding the question. This is what you get for admitting you've thought about sleeping with at least one of them. 

“Come on,” Dean pleads, “we're big boys. We can take it.” 

You sigh, thinking deeply and stalling. Maybe if you're nice about it it won't be weird later. Just be vague and really really nice. 

Fine. You can do that. 

Who do you start with? When you look up the first person you meet eyes with is Cas. Of the four of them you figure he's the one who cares about this the least. You'll start there.

Cas, with those beautiful eyes. Serious, focused Cas. You’ve always figured he’d be downright dominating in bed. 

“I think Cas would be dominating. He'd make sure you enjoy it, he'd get you there for sure, but it wouldn't take long before the handcuffs and paddles come out.” 

A raise of Cas’ eyebrow and a tilt of his chin tell you you're not wrong. 

“Do me!” Gabriel demands excitedly. 

You can't help but smile. Gabriel, the raucous one who's always out for a good time. 

“You're nothing if not eager,” you laugh a little, “I'm pretty sure you'd be like that in bed. Probably up for anything and everything with everyone. You'd be a good time, I imagine.”

Gabriel beams with pride. Or maybe it's because he's an angel. Or both. He beams nevertheless. 

Dean clears his throat. “Alright, let's hear it.” He motions to himself in a “bring it on” manner. 

“Another eager beaver,” you tease. 

Dean deflates slightly, which wasn't your intent. You don't need anyone leaving with a bruised ego because of you. 

Dean. Handsome, sexy, always wanting to please, Dean. 

“Eager to please is not a bad thing,” you continue. “I think you'd sacrifice your own pleasure for the sake of your partner. I think you'd take your time, slow, gentle, and thorough. I think you'd probably rock someone’s world in bed.” 

Dean has never in his life looked more masculine. He looks downright cocky and full of himself as he sits back, slinging an arm across the back of the sofa. It's like he just grew three feet in front of you all.

“Damn straight,” he says, swigging his beer. “Now do Sammy.” 

You pause. This is the one you least want to do, and when you look at Sam he seems to mirror that feeling. He looks red, like a heated blush is creeping up his neck. And nervous. And like he wants to bolt. You know none of the others are going to let you get out of this, so you might as well get it over with. 

You’ll just be brief. Short and sweet. 

“Um,” you hesitate, mind almost blank, and clear your throat to buy time. “I think Sam would be good in bed.” You look away, anywhere but at Sam.

Dean and Gabriel pass a confused look between them.

“No, come on, do him like you did us,” Dean says. 

“It's fine, Dean,” Sam tries to interject, but Dean waves him off. 

You look up at the ceiling, searching for words. 

Sam Winchester. The one with the biggest, kindest heart of anyone. The one who wants to help everyone, save everyone. The one you hide your longing looks at. The one you think about all the time. Sam. Yeah, you can do this about Sam.

“I think Sam would want to please,” you start, trying to stick to your short and sweet plan. “He'd make sure you get off, but I think he's a bit of a taker too. That isn't a bad thing,” you rush to clarify. “I think he knows what he wants and he gets it. He knows the rhythm of give and take and he plays it perfectly.” 

You take a deep breath, deciding to add a little more. “He strikes me as a multiples guy, as in no one is getting off just once. He's going to be sure it's memorable, but he's not a show off.” 

You're kind of lost in it now, thinking back on your fantasies. It's easy to forget you're in a room full of people when you don't look at any of them. 

“I think he could be dominating, but careful and cautious too. I think he likes being in control, but not to the point of kinkiness, just to the point of pushing you around, moving you how he wants. I'm pretty sure he'd ride that line between pleasure and pain _just right._ I think he'd want to take care of you--” 

Sam clears his throat, snapping you back to reality. When you see the openly surprised faces staring at you you're mortified. 

You’ve never slept with Sam. God, you wish, but he’s never shown a clear interest in you that made you think it was possible. It’s ok though, because you don’t want it to ruin the friendship between you. You can’t deny your attraction to him though, and you can’t keep yourself from watching him. His hands, the way he moves, long and graceful. 

Lord. You’ve fought the silly crush you’ve tried to develop on him tooth and nail. 

You only let yourself fantasize about him on cold, lonely nights alone in bed, when your hand wanders down between your legs. Visions of Sam, muscles shining with sweat above you, they're what take you over the edge, whispering his name as you come, long and hard. But looking around now, you can see that they all know. Your secret is out. 

“Well,” Gabriel muses, “my next question was going to be who you wanted to sleep with most, but I'm pretty sure you already answered that. You want a trophy, Sam?” 

“Shut up, Gabriel,” Sam snaps. His face is flushed almost purple in embarrassment, and he’s deliberately not looking at anyone in the room.

“Sam is the best answer,” Cas says out of nowhere. He’s very matter of fact in his declaration. 

Gabriel and Dean look at him like he’s grown a third head. 

“Why is he the best answer?” Dean demands. “What’s wrong with me?” 

“Nothing is wrong with you, Dean, I’m just saying that I think Sam is a very sensible choice.” 

“Sensible?!” Dean seems offended. 

“Yes,” Cas motions to you with a hand. “She’s a perfectly sensible humane female, and she’s obviously thought about sex with Sam quite a bit. I believe she's made a well-considered choice.” 

You cover your face in shame. “Oh my god,” you whisper to yourself. 

“And what about all the women I take home? They're not sensible? Huh?” Dean demands. 

“Well, perhaps your choice to take home different women is part of why she chose Sam.” 

“Gabriel,” you say loudly, “I think it’s your turn!” 

“A man has needs, Cas.” Dean looks like he might punch something. 

“I just had a turn. I asked you the question, remember?” Gabriel watches the argument between Dean and Cas with amusement. 

“I believe females have just as many needs, Dean.” Cas has a counter for all of Dean's arguments. 

“Gabriel, _please,_ ” you practically beg. 

He huffs his annoyance, but claps loudly, and Dean stops his rebuttal. 

Gabriel spins the bottle and you all wait, watching round and round. It lands on Sam. 

Gabriel probably made the bottle land on Sam. You give him the stink eye and he smiles back. 

Sam still looks extremely uncomfortable. You feel horrible. Your practically porn fantasies are what made him so uncomfortable. This is all your fault.

“Truth or dare?” Gabriel asks. 

Those hazel eyes flash up at you for less than a second, palms rubbing up and down his thighs. “Dare,” he says quickly. 

Once the word is out he seems to realize what’s been done. He just asked for a dare from Gabriel. Of all the people or angels, Sam took a dare from Gabriel. Something like panic settles on Sam’s face. 

He did this to avoid answering a question. A question that would probably be about who he’d want to kiss or sleep with, if you had to guess. Gabriel is pretty much on the same wavelength with Dean. Sam asked for a dare to avoid that question. You’re pretty sure that means he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, because he doesn’t reciprocate your attraction. 

Gabriel points at you before starting the instructions on his dare, and you react without thinking. 

“No!” You say a little too loudly. “Don’t you dare.” 

Gabriel turns to look at you. “That’s the name of the game, sweetheart.” He chuckles. “Literally. That’s literally the name of the game. You can’t tell me not to dare,” he shrugs, as if this game is ruled by some sort of absolute, cosmic law. 

There is no way in hell that you’re going to let him use your attraction to Sam to do something physical. Not in front of all of them. Not when Sam is obviously not into it, which he isn’t, because he looks absolutely appalled. No, this is an absolute no, cosmic consequences be damned. 

“Whatever you were going to dare him to do,” you lean forward seriously, “don’t.”

Gabriel waves a hand at you dismissively. “Fine.” 

You practically sag with relief. You’re pretty sure that even a dared kiss would send you careening over the edge into full blown heart eyes and puppy dog crushes for Sam. As it is you’re struggling with not being hurt by Sam’s reaction to a simple attraction. Thank God Gabriel dropped whatever his idea was. 

“Fine,” Gabriel repeats, turning to Sam, “if I can’t dare you to kiss her, then I dare you to kiss Cas.” 

“What?” Sam’s face screws up in utter disbelief. “No. Hell no. I’m not kissing Cas.” He shakes his head. 

“You have to,” Gabriel smiles, “you took the dare.” 

Sam crosses his arms, staring down the archangel. “I don’t care. This is stupid. This game is stupid.” 

“Do you have an aversion to kissing me, Sam?” Cas asks. 

This almost makes you laugh. Almost. Dean does laugh. Sam looks at his brother and turns beet red, not with embarrassment this time, with anger. 

“Yes, Cas, I do have an aversion to kissing you. You’re like my brother. I’m not doing that.” He shakes his head sternly. “Go to hell, Gabriel.” 

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “Pretty sure we’ve all been to hell. Been there, done that, got a postcard from the gift shop on my way out.” 

“I believe we should play another game,” Cas says. 

“No, nope,” Dean puts his hands out like he’s taking charge, “this is fun. Come on, who’s turn is it?” 

“Mine,” you pipe up, “truth or dare, Dean?” 

“You didn’t spin the bottle.” 

“I don’t care, pick one.” 

Dean eyes you up and down, thinking. You know things about Dean from drinking together. He’s probably trying to remember what he’s told you, or trying to figure out what you can remember from drunken conversations. You figure he’ll pick dare. 

“Truth,” he finally says, leaning back like he doesn’t have a care in the world. 

“Have you ever worn an article of women's clothing,” you pause, watching the realization of what you know dawn over his face, “and liked it?”

You remember. He was really drunk when he told you, he probably forgot all about it, but you didn’t. You’ve known about Ronda and the pink panties for over a year and not said a peep. But you’re done with this game now and you know this little tidbit is probably one that will end it. 

“Game over,” Dean says. 

“What?!” Gabriel exclaims. “You can’t do that!” Those honey brown eyes turn on you. “Spill it. I want details. What was that question about?”

You look away from Gabriel and back at Dean. “My lips are sealed.” 

Relief washes over Dean’s face and he sags back into the sofa. 

There’s barely any daylight left. The cabin is getting too dark to see your way around. The rain seems to have slowed though. Finally. 

“We should get some sleep,” Dean says, stretching. “Sounds like the rain is stopping. Maybe we can drive out tomorrow.” 

You can only hope. 

You all settle in for the night, listening to soft rain on the metal roof, wind in the trees. It’s like a lullaby, and soon sleep finds you. 

*****

The next few days pass without much happening. Surprisingly, no one mentions truth or dare. You avoid Sam out of embarrassment, but he acts completely normal when you're around. You start to relax, realizing that the moment is going to pass without any teasing or awkwardness.

With a few days off you decide to read a book, something you don’t have time for very often. You’re caught up in the story when there’s a knock at your door late in the afternoon.

When you see Sam standing on the other side, you’re surprised.

“Hey,” He says, flashing a pretty smile at you.

You fight the urge to slam the door, knowing he knows some of your inner most private thoughts about him. But that’s your fault really. No need to mess up that pretty nose by slamming a door into it just because of your hormones.

“Hey,” you reply lamely.

“I was about to go to town and grab some food. You wanna come?” He hooks a thumb in the direction of the closest town, and you figure he’s heading on a burger run, picking up food for everyone. He probably needs help carrying food and milkshakes.

You shrug. “Sure.”

“Great,” he smiles again, and you certainly aren’t looking at his dimples. Nope. Not you.

You also don’t look at his wide shoulders as you follow him to the garage. Or his narrow waist and cute, tight little ass. No way. Not at all.

He slides into the driver side of an old pick-up truck and you hop in beside him. The engine rolls over instantly when he turns the key, and then you’re alone in a truck with Sam Winchester on the short drive to town.

“So,” he says, steering the truck with a couple fingers, “haven’t seen you in a few days. What have you been up to?”

You wonder if he’s trying to broach the subject of truth or dare, but if he is he’s not being direct. And unless he asks you directly then you’re going to ignore it.

“Not much, just reading,” you look out the passenger window, pretending like there’s something interesting happening in the endless fields of wheat. It’s hot, the kind of heat that cranks up the atmosphere and calls for rain. You can see gray clouds far off on the horizon, and you close your eyes, letting the breeze from the open window wash over your face.

“What are you reading?”

You don’t figure it’s his kind of reading. It’s somewhat of a romance, although you like to think of it as “smart romance”. You’ve never seen him read anything like it. You tell him the title of the book.

To your surprise he knows it. He also knows the author, and several other books they’ve written.

This leads to a discussion about several similar authors, and book recommendations coming from both of you. You relax completely in the conversation, the way Sam always makes you do. He always puts you at ease, and no matter how well you think you know him, he always manages to surprise you with something new.

You’re surprised again when he pulls into the diner and parks the truck instead of hitting a drive thru. He’s just full of surprises today.

“We’re eating here?” You ask, watching as he turns the ignition and kills the truck.

“Is that ok?” He seems uncertain when he looks at you, like your question threw him.

“I guess I assumed we were going on a food run,” you open your door, sliding out of the truck and turning back to him, “this is fine.”

He follows suit, opening the door to the diner for you. “You in a hurry to get back?”

“Well, the book was getting good,” you smile at him teasingly, “but it can wait.”

When you’re seated across from him in the booth it’s harder not to feel awkward. Memories of things you said, the attraction you admitted to, flash through your mind. You want to squirm. But he’s cool and collected, pleasant with the waitress as she gets your drink order. Then you’re both distracted with the menu. But after she gets your food order you’re left with nothing to do but face Sam.

You can’t hide by staring out the passenger side window, so you fidget with your straw wrapper and keep your eyes on your hands.

“Listen,” Sam says gently, his own hands seemingly not able to hold still, “I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

Oh God. Here you go. He’s got you here and you’re cornered. He’s about to be direct. He’s going to flat out turn you down, which is fine because that’s what you always knew he would do, but you don’t want him to do it in public. You pray the people at the surrounding tables can’t hear, but you know you owe him an apology, so before he can go you on you cut in.

“Sam, I’m so sorry.” You cover your face with your hands briefly, and then look him in the eye. “That was horrible of me. I know I can’t hide the fact that I’m attracted to you now,” you want to burst into flames admitting that to his face, the words pouring out of you like a flood now that you’ve started talking, “but what I said was totally out of line. You don’t feel the same way and I’m fine with that. I just don’t want this to ruin our friendship. I hope you know that I’d never act on anything that I said. I wouldn’t put you in that situation, I swear,” you pause for a breath.

Sam squints at you, shaking his head. “Wait, wait,” he holds a hand up when you open your mouth, “let me say something here.”

You press your lips together, fighting back the barrage of words that try to push their way out. You give a quick nod.

“You don’t need to apologize, I do,” he rubs his hands down his face, kind of like you did when you started talking, and you notice his impossibly high cheekbones. Women would kill for those things. They’re really not fair.

Dammit, you chastise yourself, focus on what he’s saying.

“That whole game shouldn’t have happened. I knew it was going to get out of line, it always does, and I should have said something sooner. You should never have had to answer any of those questions.”

You don’t know what to say. How Sam thinks any of that was his fault is beyond you. You don’t need to be protected, you’re a hunter for God’s sake. “Sam, I don’t need you to protect me.”

“What if I want to protect you?” He’s looking at you when he says it, but his eyes quickly shift down to the table.

“I…” The word trails off. You’re stumped, and for a few moments there’s silence between you. You glance at each other when they’re not looking, both of you growing more uncomfortable, and finally you can’t take it anymore. “I don’t know what we’re saying here. Where is this conversation going?”

He rubs his hands over his face again, and you can hear the stubble on his jaw against his palm. He takes a deep breath. “You said I don’t feel the same way, how do you know that?”

Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. You don’t know how you know it. You just do. 

He leans forward, elbows on the table. “What if I told you that I’m attracted to you too?”

Your mouth closes. Opens again. Still no words to be found.

The waitress arrives with food. The timing is both horrible and a God send. 

You stare at the plate of food, your stomach feeling like an Olympic gymnast going for gold, it flips so much. There’s no way you’ll be able to eat. You take a bite anyway, chew, and swallow. Better than sitting here staring at a plate.

Sam takes a couple bites before finally sitting his fork down. “Are you going to answer?”

He asked what you would think if you knew he were attracted to you too. That’s not really something you can believe, especially after his reaction to hearing your answer about him during truth or dare.

“I don’t understand,” you sit your fork down as well, giving up on the food, “the way you acted in the cabin that day,” you shake your head, looking at him. “You looked appalled by what I said about you. I thought you were grossed out by me or something.”

His eyebrows raise. “What? No, no,” he places his hand over yours on the table, “that wasn’t it at all. I was surprised, I admit it. I never had any idea you thought about me like that. But my reaction that day was because I feel the same about you.”

His hand over yours is huge. And warm. And those gymnasts in your stomach must have hit the uneven bars by the way it’s flipping, because you can’t decide if you’re going to throw up or throw yourself at him.

You almost laugh from the absurdity of it, and you feel him squeeze your hand tighter when you finally smile. “Okay then,” your smile gets wider the more you think about it.

He pulls his hand away, his own smile making you feel like a schoolgirl. He takes a bite of food. “So, where does that put us?”

Your first thought is that it’ll put you in the bedroom very soon, but the more you think about it the more you hesitate. Will it ruin your friendship? Absolutely. You have no doubt about that. If you get physical with Sam you know it’s not going to be something you can pretend didn’t happen.

Maybe he doesn’t care about that? Or maybe he’s thinking of fuck buddies? You don’t know. 

“What about our friendship?” You ask him tentatively. 

He nods. “That’s what I’ve been thinking about since we got back,” he looks down at his plate, pushing food around with his fork. “Well, it’s not all I’ve thought about,” he smiles shyly, dimples flashing. 

You know what he means. You’re pretty sure that knowing that he’s attracted to you is going to have your mind racing through all your dirtiest thoughts for months. 

“I don’t know about friends with benefits. What do you think?” He asks hesitantly, like he read your earlier thoughts.

You want to say you can do it, simply because you’re so insanely attracted to Sam that any other answer doesn’t make sense. You can’t do it though. You can’t jeopardize your friendship. Ruining that would be horrible. 

You push your plate away. No sense pretending to eat when your stomach is roiling. “I don’t think I can do it, Sam.” 

He sits back in the booth, shoving the hair off his forehead. You’ve always wanted to do that. Just reach up and brush it off his brow. 

“Do you have feelings for me?” 

Shit. You freeze, making your face as neutral as possible. It’s a gut reaction to feeling put on the spot. You have to take a breath and relax. 

“I think I could.” You cross your arms and look around the restaurant. If you were being honest you’d say you do, but something in you can’t be that honest with yourself, much less Sam. “I think I could very easily. You?”

He presses his lips together and nods. 

What does that mean? That he does? It didn’t seem like a clear “yes I do” but it also wasn’t a denial at all. 

“If something happens and this doesn’t end well,” he shakes his head, “that doesn’t just affect us. That would affect Dean, Cas, Gabriel. All of them.” 

“Sam,” you lean forward, searching for courage to speak, “as much as I don’t want to, I think we need to think clearly here. If we did it, even just once, would things ever really be the same?” 

“I know,” he agrees, and somehow you both know that’s the end of it. It’s not going to happen. You’ve both decided. 

Neither of you finish your food, halfheartedly trying to talk about books again while you wait to pay. And then you’re back in the truck. 

Storm clouds rolled in during the time you spent in the diner, and drizzle hits the windshield as you pull back out onto the road. 

Silence is uncomfortable in the cab of the truck, but you can’t imagine what you guys could comfortably discuss right now, so silence it is. 

The rain picks up, challenging the old windshield wipers on the truck. After a few minutes the rain forms something like a wall that the old headlights can’t penetrate. It beats down with a roaring force. Sam eases onto the embankment and flicks the flashers on. 

“I’m sure it’ll let up in a minute,” he says, sounding apologetic. 

“It’s fine,” you answer meekly, wrapping your arms around yourself. 

Sam leans forward, peering up and out the windshield. “It’s really coming down,” he remarks. 

You nod, though he doesn’t see it. He’s still studying the rain like it’s interesting. It’s not interesting, it’s an inconvenience. He’s interested in it because it’s a distraction from being stuck in this truck together.

He sits back finally, leaning his head back into the rear window. He closes his eyes. 

It’s one of those rare times when you can let yourself look at him without fear of anyone noticing. You turn your head, not just observing him in your peripheral vision, but taking him in fully. 

His neck is open, throat bare, long and just begging for your mouth to trace a line up to his ear with kisses. His face is relaxed, eyes closed softly, and you think about things you could do to make his eyes tighten, maybe make his mouth gasp. 

He’s got one hand on the steering wheel, probably just out of habit, the other is resting loosely on his leg. Those long, strong legs. They’re folded up uncomfortably in the cab of the truck, but somehow he manages to drive without a problem. 

You watch his chest rise and fall with his breathing. It makes you ache to rest your head there, listen to his heartbeat, have him wrap those strong arms around you. 

The humidity is rising in the cab from you both breathing, the windows starting to fog. It’s getting hotter too, the summer storm amping up the heat instead of relieving it. 

He rolls his head toward you, eyes slowly opening, and for once you don’t look away. You let him see you looking. He looks back, eyes sliding over you slowly, deliberately. You’d blush if you weren’t already heated up. 

“Are we ok?” He asks.   
Yes. No. You’re not sure. Will you be? Probably. Do you want to be ok? Just go back to how things were? Who knows.   
You raise one shoulder in a half shrug.   
Sam sits up straighter, wipes his brow. You never take your eyes off him.   
He looks back to you and you can see him thinking, the gears turning in that brilliant mind. When he moves again you simply watch his hand come toward you. It’s slow, as if he’s giving you a chance to move away. As if you would.   
“Are things really going to be normal again?” Sam brushes the back of his fingers over your cheek. “Do you want them to be?”

You don’t answer. You don’t think he wants you to. Something about this seems unreal, like it’s outside time. You don’t know why, but you know that when you think back on this tomorrow you’ll wonder if it really happened. 

You’ll know it did, but you’re not sure you’ll fully believe it. 

His hand stays by your face, palm opening to cup your cheek, and you close your eyes and press into the touch. 

“I don’t know what I want, Sam.” That’s a lie. You know what you want. You want him. 

You turn your face, pressing a kiss into his palm. 

You hear him moving closer, the old leather of the truck seat creaking. 

His hand slides to the side of your neck, thumb tracing the line of your jaw. 

 

“Look at me.” It’s not a request. Sam rarely makes demands, but when he does, you listen. Even when they’re uttered in such a soft, dreamy voice, like those three words were. 

You open your eyes and stare into his. They’re hazel. You knew that. But seeing them this close makes you realize that the word hazel doesn’t do them justice. They’re striking gold and shining green, warm browns mixed with soft blues. They’re the most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen. 

He comes toward you slowly, once again giving you the option to back away. You don’t. 

When his lips land on yours the first time it’s soft, a gentle press of parted mouths. He sighs, blinking at you and kissing you again, like he’s testing the waters. His mouth opens wider and you follow his lead, angling your head, kissing him back. You can’t help the soft moan that escapes when his tongue touches yours for the first time. His hand tightens on your neck at the sound.

You’re pretty sure that if you ever get to heaven yours will be reliving those first kisses with Sam Winchester over and over. The thrill of it, the growing ache in your core at the promise of what’s to come, the easy way he touches you, getting closer, pressing in. You and Sam, just starting the journey of learning each other, that’s heaven. 

He’s got one hand around your lower back, trying to pull you as close to him as possible in the tight space. The other is fingered loosely in the hair at the nape of your neck. One impossibly long leg of his is folded between you on the seat, and you’re pressed up to the passenger side door. 

You nip his bottom lip, caught up in kisses that seem to go on forever. He sucks in a sharp breath and breaks away, blinking slowly, his pupils blown wide. 

“Are you sure?” He asks, and you know what he means. Are you sure you want this. Are you sure you want him. 

What would he do if you said no? You know what he’d do. He’d stop. He’d compose himself, run a hand through his hair, wipe it down his face to get himself under control. He’d drive you to the bunker and respect your wishes. He would put this behind you and be your friend again. That’s exactly what Sam Winchester would do. 

“Is there any going back?” You ask a version of his questions from earlier, wanting to hear his answer. Wanting to know that he feels like you do, like this is something neither of you can fight. 

“Do you want to?” 

Do you want to go back? That’s a silly question. You couldn’t go back if you tried. Hell, if he said he wanted to go back, be normal, just friends again, you couldn’t do it. You’d sneak out of the bunker in the middle of the night and run from Sam Winchester like a coward. 

No, you don’t want to go back. 

You kiss him again. It’s a little harder, a little more edge to it. You’re scared to answer his question, but you know you need to. He needs to hear you say it. 

“No,” you kiss him so hard your teeth bump, and his hand fists tightly in your hair, “I don’t want to go back,” you breathe into his skin. “Do you?”

He pulls you onto him in one swift motion. How you manage to get your legs over him without fumbling into the dashboard you don’t know, but somehow it works. You straddle him, your jeans pulling tight on your thighs, knees tucked into the back of the old upholstered seat. Even through two layers of denim you can feel him, hard as a rock, pressed between you. 

Oh God, you want him so bad you’re shaking. 

His hands slip up the back of your shirt, teasing the skin above your jeans. You want to rip your clothes off, bare yourself to his hands, let him touch you anywhere, everywhere. 

His hair has fallen down, locks of it hanging over his brow. It makes him look almost carnal. You brush the hair away, your hand running down his cheekbone, over his rough jaw. He’s beautiful as he looks at you, something almost hungry staring out of his eyes. 

“I don’t want to go back,” he says slowly, clearly, “I wouldn’t want to even if I could.” He tucks his face into your neck, arching you back, nipping at your throat. “But I can’t,” he mouths into your skin. 

He seems to lose himself, his words. He’s talking, but you’re not sure he’s fully aware of it. It’s like he’s mumbling out his thoughts. 

“Had me so turned on that night in the cabin,” he kisses your ear, making you shiver. “Knowing you’d thought about me like I think about you,” his hands move up your back, pushing into the band of your bra. “Made me so hard I thought everyone could see it. I wanted to grab you right there. Could’ve fucked you right there.” 

You imagine that, just briefly, what you’d have done if he’d crossed the room that night. If he’d just stood up in the middle of truth or dare, took two long steps, and pulled you into a searing kiss. Would you have let him? Right there in front of everyone? 

Yes. And the idea of it thrills you. 

His mouth finds yours again, smothering his words into desperate grunts and groans as you cling to him. Your knees tighten at his hips, trying to move some friction between your legs, but it doesn’t help. You try to rock against him, but the truck isn’t made for this. It’s too confining. 

He unfastens your bra and you gasp a little. You hadn’t realized how heavy your breasts were, nipples hard, straining at the fabric. But once the pressure is released you feel it, his hands pushing the offending fabric out of the way, kneading into the soft flesh. 

You don’t even know what you’re doing with your hands, clutching him, holding on, desperate to ground yourself. You pull at the bottom of his shirt, trying to unbutton his belt, but it’s no use. There’s no space for that. You settle for flattening your hand over the length of his erection, rubbing to give him friction. 

“ _Fuck,_ ” he hisses. 

You shove your other hand between your legs, pressing your fingers to your mound. Even over the fabric of your jeans it feels amazing. Not enough to get you off, but enough to give you a little relief. 

Sam watches your hand as you touch yourself, his thumbs teasing your nipples. You let your head fall back, blinking lazily at the faded old headliner of the truck. You don’t even see it, you’re too busy feeling. 

“I'm not doing it here,” Sam growls suddenly. “I'm not doing this in this truck.” 

You look at him again. His face is stone, jaw clenched. You can tell it’s taking everything in him to stop right now. 

His hands move to your waist, helping to set you back into the passenger seat. He looks at you with heady eyes, stealing one more kiss, and then slides back behind the wheel. 

You watch him shove a hand down the front of his jeans and adjust himself, face relaxing a little when he does. 

The truck roars to life when he turns the key, and he swipes irritatedly at the foggy windshield with his sleeve to clear an area to see the road. 

It stopped raining at some point, although when that happened you don’t know. You don’t even know how long you’ve been parked here. It feels like hours but that’s probably not right. 

He doesn’t ease the truck back onto the road. In fact, there’s nothing easy about his driving at all as he makes the rest of the trip back to the bunker. His eyes flash to you as you fasten your bra under your shirt. Every time he steals a look at you his foot seems to dig into the gas pedal a little harder, until he’s finally braking into a parking spot in the garage so hard the tires squeal. 

You both exit the truck and he rounds to you in several long strides. He shuts your door, pushing you up against it, and then presses himself up to you, his long body pinning you in place. He kisses you but only for a second, and then he grabs your hand and leads you inside. 

You wonder what will happen if you see someone. Will he break away? Will he take the long way, through halls he’s sure will be empty, so that no one will find out? 

Your questions are answered almost immediately. 

The quickest way to the bedrooms is through the library, but that’s where everyone congregates. 

He pulls you straight toward it. 

Should you let him? Is this something you should be hiding? No. You know that instantly, and you let him lead the way. 

The library is empty and you think you’re going to get a chance to ease into the idea of this, whatever it turns out to be, for a little while longer.

Until Dean walks out of the kitchen and stops. He watches you and Sam with interest, looking at Sam’s face and your linked hands. He studies you closely, taking in your tousled hair, kiss swollen lips, rumpled shirt. He smirks at you, raises a glass of milk in a toast as you walk by. 

“‘Bout damn time you two work that shit out,” he says to your backs. 

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam says, and then you round the corner and Sam is pulling the door to his bunk open.

You've never been in his room before. You've seen it, sure, when you knock on his door. But you've never been inside. You've never had a reason to, until now.

It’s clean, organized, simple. It smells like Sam, and something about it feels like him. He feels at home here and it’s worn off on the place. 

And now you’re standing in it, looking around at the walls. You realize he’s looking at you standing in his room, watching as you take in the small space.

He’s close enough to reach out and slip a finger in your belt loop, tugging you closer. He doesn’t kiss you at first, just looks into your eyes, one hand pushing your hair from your face and the other wrapping around your waist. 

You reach up, resting your hands on those impossibly broad shoulders, wondering what he’s thinking. 

“You ok with Dean knowing what we’re doing?” You ask. 

He doesn’t betray his thoughts by saying anything, just leans down and kisses you again. When he pulls away his eyes stay closed for a second, and then finally open slowly to look down at you. 

“I don’t care who knows about this.” He’s kisses you again, harder this time. 

His kisses get increasingly urgent, almost relentless, all while his hands start to roam. Up your back, on your neck, cradling your face and head, constantly moving, learning your curves. When they push up under your shirt and hit the band of your bra again he breaks away. 

He steps just far enough away that he can tug your shirt up and off, and then reaches behind you with both hands to unclasp your bra. He looks at you, takes in your bare breasts, cups them in his hands. You feel exposed, but also seriously turned on. 

He strips his own shirt off and you look at him. You’ve seen him shirtless before, only when Dean was stitching up and injury, and you’d always tried not to look, knowing it would fuel your hunger. But now you stare. You study him. You reach out and touch the defined muscles in his abs, letting your fingers trace the cut lines on his waist that disappear below his belt. 

He seems to not be able to stand not touching you, his fingers faintly sliding up your arms as you explore him. When you meet his eyes he smiles, taking your hand and pulling you back to his bed. 

He sits, spreading his legs so you can stand between them. You lean down, kissing him gently, and he lets you lead, all the while his hands massage the backs of your thighs, butt and waist. 

He’s patient, but you can feel him wanting to take over. His hands grip tighter, one slipping between your legs, making you aware of how much you want your jeans off. He tries to push up to kiss you deeper, but you know he’s trying to take his time, go slow. 

When you moan, feeling his hand press over your mound, he finally seems to have reached his limit. His hands on your waist pivot you, turning so that you fall back onto the bed. He unbuttons your jeans, stripping them off and tossing them away. 

He kisses you, long and deep, and then trails kisses down your neck. He kisses and licks your nipples, making you arch up. His mouth sears a trail as he works his way down, resting himself between your legs. 

Those same kisses tease your thighs, working their way into your most intimate of places. He’s gentle with his tongue as he spreads you open, tasting you. He sighs and licks deeper, and your fingers pull in the blanket on his bed. 

His tongue is sinful. His face is rough on your thighs. You gasp when he slips the tip of a finger inside you, his tongue working your clit, and he breaks away, going still. 

“Is this ok?” He asks. 

You look down between your legs at his wet face. Is it ok? Ok is an understatement. 

“Hell yes,” you say, hands reaching for him. You thread your fingers through his hair, pushing his face back where you want him. “Don’t stop,” you instruct.

You feel him laugh softly, and then he goes at you with renewed enthusiasm. He slips a whole finger in you, all the while circling your clit with his tongue. Another finger invades, pushes in up to the knuckles, and you feel stretched fuller. 

He has you writhing, rocking on his face, desperate for release. 

“Please, Sam,” you breathe, “fuck me…” 

He increases the speed of his tongue, the intensity of it. His fingers inside focus on your g spot, rubbing over and over. You barely feel the orgasm building before it slams through you, making you shake and shiver, clenching around his fingers. 

He works you though it, helping you ride it as long as you can, and as you come down he slows everything, knowing from how you twitch and jerk that your over stimulated.   
When he knows it’s over he raises up, laying himself over you, kissing you fiercely, possessively. 

Your hand tugs at his belt. His hand over yours stops you.

“Not yet,” he says between nips and kisses, “you’re not ready for me yet.” He lets his weight rest on you, and you feel the hard length of him pressed to your core. He’s not small. 

You’d gotten a hint of that when you’d ran your hand over him in the truck, but you really couldn’t tell because of the awkward position. Now you know, and the thought excites you even more, if that’s possible. 

You push him back, making him stand. He watches with you as you unbuckle his belt, unbutton his jeans and push the fly down. You tug them down with his boxer briefs, and he kicks them away. 

You study him. Sam Winchester fully naked is a sight to be seen. All muscle and long limbs. His cock stands proud, hard and ready. 

You lick your lips and reach for it, stroking it with one hand. He hums when you wrap your lips around the head, his hands sliding into your hair. You play with him, taking your time as he did with you, finding what makes his gasp and moan. You revel in knowing what makes him lose control, hips thrusting, wanting more. 

After awhile he guides your mouth off with a pop, and tells you to lay back on the bed. You figure he’s ready to fuck you now, and you’re surprised when he arranges himself so that he’s on his knees beside you, the tip of his cock glistening with pre come. You raise up on an elbow and take him into your mouth again. 

Sam’s hand visits each breast, teasing your nipples, back and forth. He moves his hand lower, lower, until it slips between your legs. You spread them open for him and shiver when he brushes your clit. 

Two fingers push into you again. “So wet,” he says, his free hand pushing the hair from your face so he can watch you suck his cock. 

A third finger invades you, making you feel stretched wide. He distracts you from the feeling by working a thumb around your clit in slow, smooth circles. You can’t concentrate anymore, finally letting yourself lay back and lose yourself in the feel of his fingers. 

You’ve watched Sam for as long as you can remember. You’ve always wondered what it would be like to be with him, but you never imagine this. How good those hands would feel on you, how you’d be more turned on than ever before in your life. 

He brings you close to coming, and then lets it recede. Close again, then he slows his hands, over and over, working you into a desperate, needy frenzy. 

Your eyes are closed, head rolling back and forth, hips raising up off the bed. You want more, more, more. You want Sam. 

He stops suddenly, watching you. You blink up at him through hooded eyes. 

“You look amazing,” he says, leaning down to kiss you gently. “Get on all fours.” 

Oh God. You do as he asks, flipping to your belly and raising your ass in the air for him. He smacks it, the sting abating quickly. You smile into the sheets. 

He feels his weight on the bed behind you, feeling him line himself up, rubbing the head of his cock on your clit. You’re pretty sure that if he’d keep that up for a minute you’d be coming. He doesn’t though. He seems to be intent on teasing you this time.

He presses the thick head of his cock to your opening, and even though he’s been working you open it still feels huge. You tense, just barely, but he notices. 

He pulls you up, so you’re sitting on your knees, your back pressed to his chest. He kisses the back of your neck, a hand pushing down between your legs. 

He works your clit again as he eases into you, centimeter by centimeter. He takes his time, going painfully slow, slower than he needs to really, to be sure he doesn’t hurt you.

The tension in his body tells you how much he’s restraining himself. He’s practically vibrating, pressed to your back, holding himself in check. You know he wants to let loose, bury himself in you, and you know he’ll do just that very soon. 

He’s all the way in, making you feel more full than you could imagine, and he’s holding very still. He rocks his hips, just barely, moving inside you, and you moan. 

God, he feels amazing. 

Sam holds you back against him, one hand on your neck, the other pressed low on your belly. He moves a little more, making your eyes roll back. He grabs your hand and places it just above your mound, finally allowing himself a small thrust. 

“You feel that?” He asks.

You nod.

“That’s me,” he whispers in your ear, “that’s my cock.”

You've never felt a guy moving in you from the outside before. It's insanely hot. “Jesus, Sam,” you say in a shaky voice, “fuck me.” 

Your words make him lose his last shred of composure. He pushes you down onto the bed. His hands grip your ass, spreading you apart, and you know he's watching himself slide in and out of you, slowly.

“Fuck,” He swears through clenched teeth, “you feel...” He trails off, lost in it, hips canting at a faster and faster pace. 

A hand smacks your ass, stinging your skin again. He holds his big palm over it, soothing the skin. 

_Pleasure and pain_ , you think. You were right in your fantasies.

It’s amazing how quickly you adjusted to his size, the way the head of his cock rubs over your g spot. He can tell when you’ve fully relaxed, when you’re ready, and he starts an unbelievable pace. 

You balance yourself on one elbow and your two knees, and let one of your hands slip down to your clit. You play with yourself, letting your fingers spread apart, feel Sam slip in and out of you. You get yourself close, your muscles starting to flutter, and you back off. You tease yourself as he did, biting the sheets between your teeth, loving the roughness of his hands on your hips. He holds you where he wants you, and you know he gets close to coming several times, then reigns himself in.

His weight presses down on you as he leans down, whispering in your ear. “Flip over,” He kisses the back of your neck, “wanna see your face when you come on my cock.” 

That’s not something you have to be told twice. 

He pulls out and you feel empty, needy, wanting him inside you again. You roll, spreading your legs wide in an invitation to him. He looks at every inch of your body, eyes roaming from the top of you disheveled head, down between your parted legs, and to the tips of your toes. You can tell he appreciates what he sees. 

He strokes his cock as he lines it up, watching your face as he pushes inside again. “I could come just watching your face,” he nips your bottom lip. 

He can go deeper now, and he does. Long, sure strokes take over, and you’re lost in it. His body rocks yours with his rhythm, he pulls your knees up, going even deeper, and your eyes roll back in your head. 

“Feel good?” He asks, face nuzzled into your neck. 

You mouth the word yes, nothing comes out, but you know he feels the small nod of your head. You’ll have to remember to tell him later just how good it feels. You’ll have to show him later just how good it feels. 

His hand works down between you, and in what seems like an impossible angle he finds your clit. He rubs it, all the while his long, thick cock works in and out of you. 

You manage to open your eyes when you get close, see him staring at you. Your mouth hangs open and you nod at him. 

“Come for me,” he tells you. You know he’s waiting on you so that he can get off. 

His fingers circle, stroke, tease, all the while his cock rubs over that perfect spot inside you, and you feel the coil building in your belly. Heat spreads, that precious, desperate ache blooming, and suddenly it rips through you. You come violently, muscles contracting so tightly on his cock that it rides that line of pleasure and pain. 

“Yes,” his eyes close, tighten at the corners, “good girl,” he praises. 

Your orgasm seems to go on for minutes, though you know that can’t be possible. Once it’s over Sam pulls his hand from between you, bracing himself on both hands, and he fucks you with a ferocity you wouldn’t think would feel good, but it does. 

Sam Winchester is a sight to behold when he lets go, loses control, lets himself get lost in something so animalist and yet intimate. He’s lost in you, and you could weep from the sight of it. You don’t though. 

No tears come, instead you feel the coil building again in your belly and you can’t believe it. Maybe it’s just an aftershock, but another orgasm blinds you momentarily, and then you feel Sam emptying himself deep inside. He gasps, his hands ripping the sheets beside your head, the obscene smack of skin as he grunts and fucks you is unreal. 

He stills finally. His forehead falls to yours. His muscles relax, letting his weight down over your body. Your hands snake around his neck, holding him close. 

A satisfied hum rumbles from his chest as he collapses onto the bed, an arm pulling you close to him. “Next time I won’t get off so fast,” he promises. 

You smile. You knew there’d be a next time. Of course their would. Not doing this again would be impossible, but hearing Sam talk about it makes those gymnasts appear in your stomach again. 

“You mean that was fast?” You laugh a little, tucking yourself into his side. 

“You weren’t wrong when you said I like ,” he nuzzles the hair at your temple, smelling you. “How’d you know all that stuff anyway?” 

You close your eyes, relaxing into the afterglow with Sam. “Just a fantasy.”

“Well, give me a power nap and we’ll see what other fantasies we can bring to life.” 

You laugh, a hand cradling his handsome face. You start a mental checklist of what you want to do first.


End file.
